


Love Sticks, Sweat Drips Part II

by Attaining



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Authority Figures, Begging, Bondage, Collars, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, F/M, Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Spanking, Theon Greyjoy-centric, handjobs, non-con, there's a glory hole in Winterfell and Theon knows all about it, washing/cleaning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27364336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaining/pseuds/Attaining
Summary: This is where all my Theon kink bingo porn is going to live.Chapter 1- Theon/Oberyn: Oberyn puts Theon in his place, and Theon likes it.Chapter 2 - Theon/Sansa: Sansa has a gift for Theon.Chapter 3: Jon/Theon & Theon/Ramsay (past): Jon and Theon grieve.Chapter 4: Ramsay/Theon, Theon/The Bastard's Boys: Theon learns to never turn Ramsay away. (CW: explicit non-con)Chapter 5: Robb/Theon: Theon likes to be spanked and Robb is happy to oblige.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, The Bastard's Boys/Theon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy/Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy/Oberyn Martell, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 35
Kudos: 86
Collections: Theon Greyjoy Kink Bingo





	1. Theon/Oberyn

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I've had mad writer's block for the last year, but I'm trying to work through it with some good old fashion PWP! This is for the Theon Greyjoy kink bingo. 
> 
> The "plot" you need to know - The wars never happen. Robert hosts a tourney that draws all the lords to King's Landing. That's it. End plot.
> 
> I hope it treats you well!

“Did the Starks forget to teach their hostage manners?” Oberyn Martell asked, goblet of wine in hand, robe slipping down his shoulder. Theon swallowed. 

He did not know how he ended up with his sword placed carefully back into his scabbard, but Theon misliked the look in Martell’s dark eyes. His skin was kissed by the Dorne sun and his robe was made of finer silk than Theon had ever known. He had been a fool to brazenly barge into Martell’s room in the King’s Landing brothel, but the prince had embarrassed Theon deeply, mocked him in front of Stark soldiers when he had come seeking a whore for the night. The moment Theon saw his eyes, he knew. This man could kill him easily. So there they stood, Theon caught like a petulant child, nose flaring, his breath hot... and Prince Oberyn, who was impatient but amused. Theon took his hand from his sword. 

Martell placed his goblet by the bedside and flashed a knowing smile. His voice was firm and smooth, shooting Theon through like goosefeather. “There is a good boy.”

“Fuck you!” Theon hissed, blood rushing to his face at the words, and he forgot everything he had just surmised. He whirled back to throw a punch, but Oberyn was faster, more skilled. He only spun Theon around and quickly had him bent over the mattress. He struggled off the silk sheets and found his back against Oberyn’s bare chest. 

“But you are... a good little boy,” Oberyn drawled, his chin leaned on Theon’s head. Oberyn ran his fingers down Theon’s arms as he nuzzled at his neck. 

Theon froze, despite himself. Gooseflesh rose where Oberyn’s fingers passed. Why did he let him do this? Touch him this way? Why were his breeches so suddenly uncomfortable?

“What kind of honorable man would kill an innocent child for the acts of his father?” Oberyn muttered against his ear, curled around him, a large hand palming him over too thin fabric. Theon shuddered against him, felt small in the presence of this older man. “In Dorne, we do not treat little boys this way.”

“I--” A small sound, a ghost of a whimper, escaped Theon. His hips rocked forward as Oberyn held his hardening cock firm. How did he know? How did he see through him? No one in Winterfell knew what he did… The hole cut into the brothel’s back wall. He never saw their faces. “I’m no sword swallower--"

“We do not care about this in Dorne either. A woman, a man, it matters not. Go on, say it. Wouldn’t you like to be taken care of, little one? This is why you rage so easily, burst into my room uninvited. You wanted someone to mind you, treat you like the little boy you are.” 

His fingers did not stop and Oberyn’s free hand clapped against his ass. Theon gasped, his eyes pinched tight and shame blazed across his cheeks. His cock jumped, too, and the humiliation was too much. It shouldn’t feel so good. It shouldn’t wash over him like the long lost sea. Leaning in, he whispered, “But I’m… I’m not. Good. Not like… not like a Stark.” 

Oberyn tutted at him and Theon felt his heart pound in his chest. Warm lips pressed against his skin. “You would disagree with me?” 

_ No,  _ he thought.  _ No, my lord.  _ Only he had said it, his eyes slipped closed, some desperate, needy creature crawling from him, pulled by Oberyn’s will. And shamefully, it felt so natural, so right. 

“Oh no, you’ll not call me this, little lordling,” Oberyn breathed, pressed firmly behind Theon, skilled fingers walking up his throat, the other roughly tearing his belt from him. The leather gave easily, falling heavy to the floor. “You will call me... Daddy.” 

Theon scoffed, indignant and so hoping to be put in his place. “I’m not calling you that.” 

The fingers squeezed and he felt Oberyn’s beard graze his cheek. “Oh, should I take you over my knee and spank you, then? If you so wish to be a naughty boy, punishment could be arranged.” 

His cheeks burn, his cock strained against his breeches, leaking already like some greenboy.  _ How could I debase myself like this? What if my father knew? What if the Starks knew?  _ “D-don’t…”

“A good little boy would do what he’s told,” Oberyn whispered, teasing the shell of his ear between sharp teeth. “And he would be taken care of.” 

As to make his point, Oberyn unlaced Theon’s breeches and dove inside, cupping his cock, flesh on flesh. Theon’s knees almost gave way as he arched against the older man. He dared not breathe as his lord toyed with the head of his prick. He had done this before. He knew things… things that Theon had scarcely let himself think of. Theon could feel the other man hard against his back and a small moan escaped him.  _ This is wrong. I’m a man. But-- who would know?  _

It had started off innocently, drunk and with not enough coin for the night, but he was told someone would suck him for free if he waited, just a small hole in a wood stall. And someone had and he had felt the beard, saw a glimpse of it through the wood in the firelight and that sight alone made him spill like he never had before. If he couldn’t be a Stark, why the fuck not be this? It was not long before he was on the other side, his knees in dirt while he desperately lapped at the first man who drunkenly stumbled by. They praised him, told him he was good. He craved it like the ocean. He wondered, he wanted to know what else there was… imagining himself on his knees, ass in the air--

“Would you like that?” His voice was low, rumbling through Theon like a bear’s roar. He could barely think, let alone speak. 

“...yes,” he whispered, rocking himself into Oberyn’s hand.  _ Yes, please.  _ He felt so small. This man would take care of him. He saw him, knew things about him so easily. No one ever looked at him closely enough to see this... No one would ever say The Red Viper, a  _ prince, _ was no man.  _ I’m a prince, too, I shouldn’t-- _

“Yes, what?” Fingers pressed around his throat, pulled his jaw higher. Theon shuddered. 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

Prince Oberyn kissed him, finally, and Theon was undone, something within snapped free and Theon met his lips hungrily. It was short lived and ended so soon his chest deflated, a whine left him. He had felt whole in that kiss, free of the North and its shame for but a moment in the sun. “Do not pout, little one, I will take care of you.” 

Fingers in his hair, he dragged Theon gently to a great sand table in the room. It must have come from Dorne, a gift for the fat King to plan his battles. “Put your hands on the table.”

Trembling, he did so, but a soft ‘tsk’ from Oberyn gave him pause. His cheeks flushed deeper. “Yes, Daddy.” 

Oberyn gave his cock a squeeze. “Good boy.” 

His prick twitched and leaked, aching for more.  _ Say it again.  _ Within moments his ass was bared to the room. He heard Oberyn’s own breeches fall, a hard length against his skin. Theon squeezed his eyes shut, desperation growing inside of him. “Fuck me. I’ll be good for you. I’ll do whatever you want. I want to be good.”

Despite himself, tears welled in his eyes, some inexplicable reason he could not name. How could he say such a thing? How could he not? Oberyn slapped his ass. “Were you spoken to?” 

He bit his lip and shook his head. He wanted to be good, he wanted it more than anything. More than Robb’s smiles, more than Ned’s praise. Oberyn folded himself over Theon, kissed his neck as his length pressed into his most private area. Theon panted, shaking his hips, desperate for more, a strangled whine on his throat. His shirt slipped easily over his head, discarded on the floor. Gentle hands guided him down, moving to his arms and spreading them forward into the sand, slipping over his fingers. His cheek met the cool material, so fine like the silks that covered every inch of this room. It really was sand... like the ocean, like the Drowned God himself was going to fuck him. A hand, wet with something slick found his cock again. His legs trembled as a second hand, just as slick, dipped in and found his hole.  _ Yes, yes, please. More. I’m a good boy.  _ One finger toyed with him, rocked and pressed inside until his body rode a wave hot as fire. He could not last much longer, he--

“A good boy will not spill until he is told. And you’re a very good boy, aren’t you?” the prince said, nipping at ear as a second finger spread him wider. A cry escaped Theon and tears flowed freely. “You want to say something, don’t you, little one?” 

Theon nodded frantically, rocking his hips to get more. He had done this before, a shy exploration of his own fingers, but it was nothing like  _ this.  _

“Go on, you may speak.” 

“P-please--” he choked, the third finger stretching him so far he thought he might break. His cock ached, missing the hand that stroked it, the hand that moved to his chest, pressed him further back into Oberyn, a vast presence, powerful and dominating. Theon could do no else but yield to him. “Let me spill.” 

“No,” the prince said simply, the fingers gone and Theon cried out, desperate and empty. His chest collapsed, a deep and sudden fear that Oberyn would leave him here like this, leave him abandoned and alone, wanting and never satisfied. But before that fear consumed him, he felt the head of the man’s cock replacing fingers. Theon laughed, wild and wanton, relief overwhelming him. There was no pain, only a fullness, a stretch of mild discomfort but he took to it like water, his fingers grasping at sand, the tiny pieces clinging to his hair and face. It tasted like ocean in his mouth. When Oberyn was fully seated, he sighed heavy and relaxed. “Daddy needs to ride you, before you will spill like some greenboy. Tell me how much you like my cock inside you.” 

He could die at the humiliation, but it felt  _ right.  _ Theon swallowed, “I...I like your cock inside of me.”

He yelped, the sting in his ass sudden and intense. “Is this how you speak to your elders?”

“Daddy!” Theon yelled, eyes wet, cock wet, surely the ocean waves licked at him. “I love your cock inside of me, Daddy. Please ride me. Please. I’m a good boy, aren’t I? I was good?” 

“Yes, little one,” he said rocking into Theon, slow and gentle, but quickly picking up speed until Theon knew he was sure to drown. “That’s a good boy. What a tight little ass you have for me, little lordling.” 

“Yes, Daddy,” he mumbled, body rocking through the sand, burying his arms, spraying across his face as he tried to get his balance, the table knocking against the polished stone. He could barely stand, Oberyn held him so fast, took him so deeply. The toe of his boot left the ground, sand held him, a cool silk sheet. He lost track of where he was, in a brothel in King’s Landing, or on the shores of the Iron Islands, taken by the Drowned God himself. Oberyn’s cock raked over something inside of him that made his stomach a taut bow. “I-I’m… Daddy, please--”

“Spill for me, little one,” he rasped hot against Theon’s ear, thick fingers wrapping tight around his cock head. “Spill now.” 

When Theon came, he thought he had finally reached the hallowed halls, had drowned and been reborn in the sea itself, his spill dripping into the ocean. He felt himself relax, his limbs but a child’s as he rested his head on his sandy arms, his body rocked by Oberyn’s thrusts, doing with him what he liked, ocean waves carrying him home until finally he heard a grunt and hot seed filled him, creation itself. 

Oberyn slipped two fingers between Theon’s lips, and he suckled him gently. “There, little one, were you not cared for?” 


	2. Theon/Sansa: Trained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a gift for Theon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This little ficlet escaped from me unexpectedly as I was trying to write something else. It would go no further, so I decided to just post. 
> 
> Prompt: collars

The collar slid easily around his throat, her lithe fingers buckling it snuggly into position. It filled Theon with a kind of pride he knew it shouldn’t… not after everything. Not after Ramsay. Sansa stepped back to admire her work. She had stamped the direwolf and kraken into the leather herself. 

“There…” she said hesitantly. “Do you like it?” 

He nodded; she hadn’t given him permission to speak, and Theon was nothing if not a good dog. 

Sansa swallowed, maybe she didn’t know if she should like it either, but she had minded a direwolf. How hard could a broken thing like him be? Theon had been trained, by a cruel master, but an effective one. It was only right he should go to her, after she killed his last master. Sansa paid the iron price for Theon, and he was devoted to her. He would be her thrall, her dog, her--

“We talked about this. Are you here with me?” Sansa asked. She mistook him, his longing to be at her feet, to worship her. He was not forgetting; this time, it was truly his choice to serve. “You may speak.” 

He licked his lips. “Yes, my lady. Here. In Winterfell, with you, the Queen in the North. And I’m your… your consort. Your husband. Your king. My name is Theon.” 

She ran gentle hands over his scarred chest, tracing little patterns around the puckered patches. Sansa caressed the stiff leather at his neck, drawing a moan from his lips. “Good. Now kiss your queen.” 

He leaned forward but she shook her head, hands firm on his shoulders. Eager, he fell to his knees, his lips dipping into the curve of her thigh. Sansa’s fingers tugged his hair, a delicious pain, and forced him against her trimmed cunt. Heat coursed in his body as his tongue rolled over her folds, tasted her nectar and licked inside her. As he sucked her pearl, he heard the snap of the lead, felt his air disappear as she pulled it taut. A shuddering whine left him as he lapped at her, wrote prayers to the Drowned God on her skin until she pulled him so close he thought black might claim him. Panting, she petted his hair and collapsed on the bed, tugging at the fine leather that connected them. He crawled to her on hands and knees, lips wet with her spill. He sat on his heels and looked up with wide eyes, waiting. 

The leather sliding between her hands was entrancing. She smiled, sated and knowing. “You’re a good boy, Theon.” 

His chest swelled. It was all he ever wanted. 


	3. Jon/Theon: The Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Theon grieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a super quick little piece. I didn't really edit it much from its original word dump so it's disjointed but I also wanted to post something before the New Year! 
> 
> Warning: everything Ramsay related, past torture/non-con. 
> 
> Canon events were shuffled around as was convenient. Leans bookish except this is obviously about the bath scene with Ramsay in the show. 
> 
> Washing/cleaning prompt

Theon thinks of it often, his lordship’s pale eyes wide and waiting, the heat of the cloth on his shoulder. His master had touched him with such kindness, gently cleaning away the filth he had painstakingly built in Reek’s birth. But that was over now. His master was dead and he was delivered to Jon Snow. 

“Bring him,” he heard Jon’s voice. They were in Winterfell, a gift from the Baratheon king, who took Jon Snow from The Wall on a promise of a sister. His master’s head was another gift and Theon’s blood he had thought would be the sweetest. But Jon did not kill him. 

Theon shuffled into the room--they called him Theon now and sometimes he believed it--the guards removing the shackles at his hands and feet. He peeked over his shoulder to see them close the door on their way out. Alone with a Snow. He almost giggled at that, but he thought instead of his master’s fingers scratching his scalp, rinsing away the grime. Alone with a Snow. He shivered. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon apologized, like always. He unlaced Theon’s doublet, pulled it from his aching shoulders. “You’ll be freed soon enough.” 

Theon used to say, ‘why bother?’ But now he let Jon strip him to his small clothes. His Master had him remove his own clothes so he could watch. Jon preferred to touch him, slide the thin cloth away to reveal what was left of his skin. They are always painfully kind touches. Jon took his hand and helped him into the tub. Theon hissed at the heat but sank obediently in. He was not always so well behaved. Not in the times before he learned his name and not when he flew from the ramparts with Jeyne Poole. He had never been so proud and so ashamed of a single moment in his life. Jon rolled up his sleeves and dipped the cloth into the water. 

“I’m going to start with your shoulders,” Jon announced. And he did. And Theon’s eyes slipped closed, thinking of a different Snow who should never be called a Snow, how gentle he had been after so many nights of violence. Jon ignored the tears streaming down Theon’s face, as he always did. He was warm, Jon’s movements slow and soothing, but it was nothing compared to that first time with his master. Ramsay’s love was hard earned; oh, the suffering he had endured for that moment of kindness. It became an obsession. He did whatever it took to earn that sweet touch again, the one Jon now offered so freely. Jon’s hair fell into his dark eyes and Theon brushed it away without thinking. Jon almost smiled. 

“Why?” Theon asked, not for the first time. 

“The men we were died,” Jon explained, not for the first time. “We’ve been punished enough.”

The newborn Jon had scars as ugly as Theon’s. Later, when Theon was washed clean and pink, Jon would take him to the bed, press his face into the furs and pound so hard into his ass Theon would wonder if he might break. Then Jon would cry, biting into his shoulder, bruising his paper thin skin. It was not kind, but Theon did not want kindness then. That was for now. 

Then, even later, again there would be a bath, a kind apology to wash away Jon’s shame. He would fret that Theon had not wanted it that way, that Theon crying for his master as Jon pushed inside him was some sign of illness. But how else could they grieve? Theon would reach back, desperate to keep Jon’s cock inside him for as long as possible.  _ Fuck your seed so deep it takes root. Keep me like this, under you. Own me.  _

But Jon would never own another, and Theon would never be owned again. And Jon would never harm an innocent, but Theon was no innocent. 

So Jon washed his shoulders, let the afterbirth of this new Theon run down into the water, and they pretended they didn’t know what would happen next. 


	4. Theon/Ramsay: Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon learns never to turn Ramsay away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honk honk, we're heading to the city dump. This was inspired by a lot of Thramsay fan art/fics. :3
> 
> Warnings: ALL OF THE WARNINGS. The entire fic is explicit non-con, group non-con, public non-con, inserting objects non-con. Read carefully. 
> 
> Prompt: exposure/exhibitionism

He was not on the saltire, but he might long for it soon. 

“Looks like a puppet,” Damon snorted as he forced Theon’s arms above his head. A small whine left his throat as their hands jostled the hearth broom shoved deep inside him. Fat tears ran down his cheeks, but he had learned not to beg. He  _ had.  _

_ But I haven’t learned my name... _

Theon yelped as they spread his legs wide apart, the rope wearing into each ankle. His cheeks turned red and he squirmed against them, hiding his face in his shoulder. He tried to close his legs, but they were drawn into the air. Sour Alyn snickered ugly and toothy as the broom started to slip from him. Lord Ramsay coaxed it back in as men filed into the room. He said patiently, “Reek, I told you to hold it in.” 

He could not bring himself to apologize so he said nothing. Ramsay smiled, cold as winter, and Theon screamed with one flick of the bas--of Ramsay’s wrist. It was a knife sharp pain. He closed his eyes and tried to tell himself it would not be so bad. His heart pounded in his ears, skin prickled into gooseflesh in the chill of the dungeon.

Theon had not been stretched this way before, his legs suspended in the air as they tied the long ropes above his head, next to his hands.  _ They can all see… see everything…  _ His wrists seeped rivulets of red as rope replaced leather, the feeling draining from his arms. But he was not flayed nor whipped when Lord Ramsay could have done it for the curses Theon made on his mother. He teetered on a wooden box, his limbs tied to a railing above him where Ramsay’s men now stood to watch along the raised stone walkway. The Boys, they crowded around him. Damon grabbed his hips and pulled him forward to the edge of the wood, his shoulders allowed to rest on the short wall behind him. Men sneered down at him and he averted his eyes in shame. Theon was strung up, his ass on display for Ramsay, who sauntered between his ankles to pump the wooden broom. Theon sobbed and Ramsay leaned to kiss a tear from his cheek. “Now Reek, you asked for  _ anything _ over my cock. So here you have it.  _ Everything. _ Watch now, pet.” 

Ramsay drew Theon’s gaze down his heaving chest and scarred stomach to watch the handle disappear under the ugliness between his legs. Sobs bubbled in his throat as he thought about spitting and biting. But he would not. He had  _ learned.  _ He had, there was no reason to do this. He knew now, he did. Theon bit his lip hard as Ramsay stretched him, filled him in a way he had never known before the Dreadfort dungeon.  _ He’s angry but he is merciful. There is grease to ease the pain.  _ He was torn when Skinner clumsily tried to shove a dry piece of wood straight into his ass after Theon had unwisely rejected his keeper.

_ Fool. Fool. Reek, it rhymes with meek.  _ It was not so bad, no worse than any wench from Winterfell took from him, he reasoned as Ramsay fucked him with the broom handle. But then he dared to look around him, see the men with wet lips and hands down their breeches. He whimpered, realizing Alyn, Skinner, Damon and the rest had dropped their pants, their ugly cocks growing plump in butcher hands. Only Ramsay stood dressed, his hand methodically pumping the broom, stretching his hole open even wider. Theon moaned unbidden as Ramsay shifted the angle, pulling long and slow over something inside him.  _ Please let me die,  _ Theon thought as the stub of his cock swelled and ached. The men laughed at him.  _ Please kill me.  _

“Remember, Reek, you wanted this,” Ramsay cooed like it was true. Cold sweat poured down his back, but he could not move. The ropes bit him, and he rattled the box with his trembling. He met Ramsay’s eyes, could not look away.  _ He knows.  _ The broom slid over that spot, agonizing, merciful. Ramsay did not blink, had pinned him with arrows in his gaze. 

Suddenly, the broom was gone.  _ It felt almost…  _ He could not even think it. 

Instead of Ramsay, Damon’s hulking form replaced him, his prick fat and short pressing inside of him. It was bigger than the broom, wide and without enough grease. Theon clenched his eyes shut as Damon pushed in hard, closed his big hands around the collar at his neck, pulling Theon closer. 

“Reek,” Ramsay chastised again, ever patient with his slow pet. “You wanted to see this. You asked for it. All my men have come to see what a sword swallowing whore you are.” 

He opened his eyes in time to see Damon snap his hips forward. His cock was dark with black curls, his clothing draped around his hips as Theon quivered in the ropes, unable to move, swaying with each thrust. “Fuck, think he likes it, Ramsay.” 

“Hm,” Ramsay shrugged. “Get in there, Alyn. Don’t dally, he hasn’t got any teeth left after last time.” 

Theon opened his mouth at that. He had bitten and he had paid. Alyn stepped up on the box, turned Theon’s head and guided his prick inside. He coughed and choked around the foul thing in his mouth while Damon pounded into his ass, using his hips for leverage. His legs ached as they stretched with the ropes, unable to bend his knees or hide himself. 

The voices above him demanded more of a show. Damon sighed and withdrew, stroking his prick until he sputtered white across Theon’s stomach. He had not the time to react before bitterness flooded his throat. He coughed, seed dribbling down his lips as Ramsay watched. Luton pushed in. All the while, Ramsay watched from afar, unmoving with that same smile, grey eyes just slightly wide. A shadow groaned and spilled its seed above him, and it dripped down into his hair. All of these men and none would help him. They wanted more of it, to see him debased, to debase him themselves. There were things worse than death, worse than Ramsay himself. Luton grunted as he rutted, face scrunched up like a pig. They all watched and waited for their turn. Ramsay would let every man here fuck him, he knew. 

“Ramsay!” Theon cried, unable to take anymore. It may as well be knives fucking him. Tears blurred his vision. How had he ever complained about the saltire? The corner of Ramsay’s mouth twitched. Theon’s heart froze, he swallowed. “I…  _ Master… _ ”

That caught his attention. Ramsay held his hand up and the men froze. “Yes, Reek?” 

“I want…” Theon had to say, whatever pride he had left wilting.  _ Theon Greyjoy, that’s a lord’s name.  _ No lord would say this. “...your cock, my lord. Just… just you.” 

“Guess he does like it,” Skinner muttered, pulling his breeches up. 

With the wave of his hand, the columns of shadowy men disappeared and Ramsay curled over him, a hand in his hair to get a better look at him. There was something dark in his eye. Ramsay sniffed and slapped Theon’s face. “You little whore. You did like it, didn’t you?”

He licked his bleeding lip, shaking his head no.  _ It rhymes with meek.  _ His shoulders ached, his legs had gone numb. He was done up like something from a mummer’s show. Seed itched as it dried on his skin. His ass twitched as seed leaked down to the floor. He didn’t notice Ramsay unlace his breeches, but felt the head of his cock slip inside him, heard his sigh. “You reek.”

Ramsay was slow, taking him like a virgin maid and Theon sobbed in gratitude. His lordship slipped a thumb in his mouth, his look focused and controlled. Theon licked and sucked like a good whore, Ramsay filling him with his cock down to the root. His heart fluttered in his chest.

He did not know what possessed him to say, “Your Reek.” 


	5. Theon/Robb: Begging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon enjoys being spanked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little palate cleanser for the darker kink fics. A begging/spanking AU where Robb wins King's Landing, Theon never betrays him and they have a lot of kinky sex.

The first time Robb had caught him, it was in Theon’s own chambers. Theon was bent over his bed, ass in the air, his breeches at his ankles. Robb had paused, shocked at the sight, his voice fled. Theon had one hand around his prick and the other held a hard switch broom that he brought down over and over on his rear. “Please,” Theon was sobbing. “Please.” 

Robb did not know what he was asking for. 

The second time, it had been Robb himself clapping his hand over Theon’s ass as he pleaded, “Harder, Robb, please spank me harder. I’ve been…  _ please _ .” And Robb had granted his request, watching his ass ripple with every slap, turning red as a fall apple. Theon smiled wide, biting his lip. “More. Please, more.” But Robb could not help himself and dove his hard prick inside. Theon laughed and moaned long and low, rocking himself against Robb. “Please,” he said again, heady and needy. “Please, Robb.” 

Now, it was a game of theirs, one that Robb cherished after long days of rule and blood spilled on the way to King’s Landing. Theon braced himself against the table as Robb spanked him with his sheathed sword. 

“You thought you would return to your house and leave me,” Robb chastised, the impression of his sword painted on Theon’s behind. 

“Please,” Theon whined. “Only as your envoy. I’ve been very good, Your Grace.” 

“Aye, have you?” Robb smirked. They had taken the city yesterday morning and Robb was hungry for release. “Tell me, or I’ll leave you like this.”

Theon’s cock dripped wet in the candle light, his breath hitching. “Saved your sister from the Lannisters. Cut the guards down and delivered her to you. I didn’t leave, did I? I didn’t go back to the Islands. I stayed.” 

“Mm,” Robb hummed, leaning down to bite the white flesh on display. He cheekily slipped one finger inside his glistening hole. Theon moaned, wonton and wild. “I suppose you did.” 

“Please, Robb,” Theon begged again, sneaking a hand to touch his twitching cock. Robb slapped him good for that, tsking and shaking his head. 

“Naughty thing. I guess we’ll have to start all over again,” Robb said with a laugh, stroking his own prick and listening to Theon sob through a wide grin. 


End file.
